I've Got You Under My Skin
by Tribble Master
Summary: Sam didn't even stop laughing until his flesh had been stripped down the bone. "When he gives you the choice, it might just be easier to crawl."  .:Set first season:.
1. Under Your Skin

Inspired by: Elliej939 and her extreme dislike of cockroaches.

Beta'd by the magnificent 1983Sarah

**A/N **The problem with writing this is that 1) it's really dark right now and 2) I swear to god I can feel all these goddamn things on _my _skin and I'm supposed to be the author who controls them. Ugh. Also, fyi, I basically won't ever re-watch the episode of _Bugs_.

**I've Got You Under My Skin**

_I've got you under my skin. I'd tried so not to give in. I said to myself, this affair never will go so well.  
>-F.S.<em>

**Chapter 1: Under Your Skin **

Sam walked out of the bathroom and stared at Dean blankly. Dean raised one eyebrow at his brother, waiting for Sam to do something more. Sam just leaned his head to one side. There was a small _snap _as he kept leaning his neck until his head fell off completely. From the floor Sam started to laugh. His body started to crumble. It didn't dissolve like sand. No, of course not, because that would be far too normal. It dissolved into a hoard of crawling insects upon the carpet. Each freak vying for attention, moving across the carpet and swarming over Sam's head. Sam didn't even stop laughing until his flesh had been stripped down the bone.

Dean could still hear his voice loud and clear though.

"When he gives you the choice, it might just be easier to crawl."

And right as the ants were beginning their climb up his leg, right when the beetles were biting into his flesh- That's when Dean woke up screaming.

Dean frantically scrambled out of the sheets that had twisted around him, making him feel too hot and too trapped. He fell out of bed gasping for fresh air, staring wide eyed at the silent motel around him. There was a soft glow coming from the bathroom, but the rest of the room was dark. He always left the light on now. There were too many things that could come at you in the dark.

Dean reached behind himself, blindly grabbing under his pillow for the long knife hidden there. Not even the tooth fairy could surprise him. There was only one thing missing…He looked over at the bed beside him.

It was empty. There were only a few times he had seen that bed empty. And each time had left him with the taste of bile in his mouth. He swallowed it back, but couldn't calm his heartbeat.

Standing up on shaking legs, he moved over to Sam's bed. There had to be some sort of sign. They'd only just gotten back together, had Sam really returned to Stanford so fast? Given up searching already after a week? Dean knew he shouldn't think that, but he couldn't help it. He prodded the sheets with the knife in his hand. Nothing moved. At least, not until he touched the pillow.

Six cockroaches scurried frantically at his prodding, each going in separate directions.

And that was when he couldn't hold back that sickening taste in his mouth anymore. He fell to his knees vomiting violently on the carpet. The greasy dinner food was as disgusting going down as it was coming up. He stood up and sluggishly moved towards the bathroom. Splashing his face with ice water made him feel significantly more awake. It took him a step further from the dream. He looked back over at the two beds.

Only Dean's bed looked like there had been a struggle. Sam's was mostly neat, except for where Dean had pushed at the sheets. The only thing that stuck out in his mind were those bugs.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Oh god dammnit, Dean!" Sam threw down his coffee, disgusted.

Dean looked up from the newspaper, chewing on the pen in his hand halfheartedly. "Problem, Sammy?"

Sam pointed down to the spilled coffee in front of himself. In the puddle was a black plastic fly. Sam glared at Dean accusingly. "I have no idea how that got there." Dean said, lifting the paper back over his face to hide his grin.

Sam reached out and tore the paper down. "You know I'm gonna get you for that."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really, now?"

"Yes." Sam said. There was no trace of humor in his voice. He was already shuffling through his mind considering different possibilities.

"Well," Dean drawled, pulling the paper back. "Can it wait until after this case?"

Sam bit his tongue. "What case."

"Bugs. Lots and lots of crawlies." Dean gestured at the spilled coffee. "Maybe we shouldn't take it. I mean if you can't handle one little plastic …"

"Screw you. Show me the obit." Despite himself, curiosity was already starting to creep over him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean knocked over the chair as he moved toward the small table. The chair wasn't deserving of his violence, but it would be a decent substitute until Sam was found. He slammed his palms into the table and leaned into the mess of papers. Victims dying of heart attacks, but no corner had explained why it looked like their skin had been peeled off and sewn back together. Each victim had one other thing in common as well: cockroaches at the scene of their disappearance. They hadn't simply died, they had gone missing. Some days, some hours, and some hadn't been found yet.

Dean threw papers to his side, frantically tearing through the information. There had to be something they had missed. As he pushed aside one of the newspaper articles he saw a map. Sam must have been working on it after Dean had went to bed. Wasn't that like the little go-getter. Dean grabbed a pen and finished what his brother had started.

An X on each abduction site and a circle on were each body was found. Surrounding the map were various guesses they had printed off. Dad's journal was open on a promising entry. Dean was the one who had first suggested the stitches were a clue to the nature of the beast.

But it was Sam who'd scene the pattern, Dean realized, smiling as he looked down on the map.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Is it me or is the standard of cheap motels in America going down significantly?" Dean grimaced as he threw his duffle down on the bed.

"Oh come on princess, bugs don't bother you but this does?"

"Supernatural bugs," Dean corrected. "And that at least you know it's evil. This…" he gestured at the room around him. "Hasn't shown its true colors yet. Which means I can't burn it. But soon…"

Sam rolled his eyes as threw down his bag. He was gingerly pulling out his laptop and setting it up on the table. "Yeah, yeah ok. But it was your idea to come here."

"Strategy," Dean shrugged. "Closer to the vics. Less travel." He began throwing clothes out of duffle into piles behind him. "Now let's see if they have a decent laundry. Do you remember the last one?" Dean held up his burnt shirt as evidence of last week's mistake.

Sam sat down in front of his computer, already searching to see where they would have to go. "Whatever works. Hey, will you take some of my stuff too?"

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"How convenient," Dean growled down at the map. "We're right in the fucking center."

Dean grabbed his duffle and stuffed it with essentials. He wasn't ready to abandon the motel yet. It would do if he needed an emergency medical station. Dean didn't want to start thinking like that though. Flashlight, first aid, plethora of weapons… He went back over to the map.

There weren't many choices but he was going to have to try them one at a time. Slow and steady doesn't win the race in the Winchester world. It gets your family killed faster. Dean snatched the car keys and stormed out of the room. A small beetle followed behind him, grinning.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Wait… What?"

"I said," Dean said slowly, "what if it's sewed up too. As if the bugs help him move." Dean pointed to the picture of one of the victims, Ann Suller. "See this cut? It's too specific to be just for feeding. The bugs want company."

Sam took the picture in his hand and leaned back. The slender cut on her side was sewn together with some fine silken thread. The edges, barely visible without the aid of a magnifying glass, were black. Sam set it down and picked up Dad's journal. "Here," he snapped his fingers and passed the book to Dean.

"One of a kind." Sam huffed. "Most hunters shrug it off as a joke."

Dean looked over the entry. Dad had started to research it, but hadn't gotten far. "Man, Dad will flip when he finds out we beat him to it."

"If he's not dead." Sam grunted.

Dean looked up at Sam, glaring. "He's alive, Sam. He is."

Sam stood up. He didn't want to hear this conversation again. It was happening to often lately. "Okay, okay, let's go get dinner. We can narrow down the bugger in the morning."

And in the morning, he was gone.

**.:tbc:.**


	2. Better to Crawl

Inspired by: Elliej939 and her extreme dislike of cockroaches.

Beta'd by the magnificent 1983Sarah

**A/N **The problem with writing this is that 1) it's really dark right now and 2) I swear to god I can feel all these goddamn things on _my _skin and I'm supposed to be the author who controls them. Ugh. Also, fyi, I basically won't ever re-watch the episode of _Bugs_.

**Chapter 2: Better to Crawl**

He was so tired, so impatient, so _old. _He was only an experiment. A throw away project; just a test to see how much power his Creator had. Underneath his skin he had a thousand friends but not one of them would carry on a conversation with him. Not a single one could dance.

He gently replaced his cup on the saucer and turned back to his guest. "Yes, yes," he smiled cordially at the young woman across the wooden table from him, "I really can't tell you how happy I am to have you here."

Claire stared back at him. She had long lost the ability to scream. Not after the stitches in her side had been sewn shut properly. "M-m-my p-p-pleasure." She said softly as from her lips a small caterpillar fell.

"After this would you like to dance?" He leaned forward. She instinctively leaned back.

It was all too much. She'd been playing with her cat (_Dinah,_ she repeated to herself. It was getting harder to remember the simple things) when the earth had shook. The dirt had seemed to be bursting as things began to pour out. Maybe she had screamed. Shortly after that …to be frank, she was almost sure she didn't want to know the elusive memories. She had woken up on a dirty mattress in this abandoned house. Well, not completely abandoned.

There was a rustling noise that made them both turn around. A tall man was being carried in on the backs of beetles and ants toward the mattress. The mattress where the spiders first lent their thread to sew her lips shut, then a little more to open her up…. They didn't need the incision to be too wide. And then, when she'd learned not to scream, that's when they let her have her voice back.

And now there was another man brought here. Claire did not want anyone else to feel this extreme sense of violation. The butterflies hatching inside her stomach were enough to drive her mad. There was something moving in her throat. To Claire's surprise it was her voice, yearning to speak volumes it hadn't in a while.

"Well, dear?" the Man prompted.

"No!" Claire shrieked. Fighting every_thing_ inside herself she jumped to her feet and started to scream. She bolted over to the man on the mattress. "Get up! Get up! Get out!"

the Man grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back. She caught a glimpse of the new victim's hazel eyes before she was slammed down into the floor. the Man flicked open his switchblade. "I thought you knew not to scream." His voice was low now, and that was not a good sign.

She raised an arm to protect herself, but it was of no use. Things were tugging at the stitches in her side, eager to break the thread and flee. She wished she could do the same. Claire looked up into the blade coming down and was just too tired to scream anymore.

The Child of Pestilence shook his head sadly as he brought the blade down. He had so been so close that time to finding a companion.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean crossed the first item off his list. It was bugs, for Christ's sake, they should've been holed up in the ground. His jeans were covered in dirt from the wasted trip into the cave. The stupid hike had taken him 30 minutes more than it should have. The next item was not too far. It was an old house, a shack that had long since been left alone.

The last person to own it was named Daniel Arston. Curiously enough he had once worked for Pest Control. Dean hadn't bothered to laugh. He parked the Impala just before the house, so she stayed out of sight. He hated this more and more every second. He fought the unknown, yes, but it was never really unknown to him. Now there was this case thrown at him right when he had gotten Sam back.

He couldn't lose Sam again. Not when those old scars were still healing. He walked around the edge of the house, stepping in soft muddy earth. Worms twisted under his feet, laughing. Dean didn't notice, and perhaps that was his mistake all long. Missing those little signs.

When he slunk in by the side door he gagged at the stench. Something was rotting in here. The inside of the house was torn and ragged. Termites had eaten nearly all the wood. Hanging from the rafters in what used to be the kitchen were three bodies. Dean went to see if they were warm, but they had been cold for a long time. Silken thread kept them hanging upside down. Dean inspected the bodies closer and saw the abundant and varying bite marks.

Dean pulled out his gun and moved as quietly as he could into the next room. He peered around the doorframe. The dining room and den had been chewed into one large room. The floor boards weren't jutting out as much here.

The mattress on the left was stained with blood and worse. On top of it was the still form of Sam, curled on his side. Dean thought he was whimpering, but the sound was too muffled to tell.

There was the Man sitting at the table with his back turned to Dean. "Well, don't leave us in suspense." the Man drawled. "Please come in already."

Dean's eyes burned with fury. That didn't stop him from walking in like he owned the place. "Sorry to keep you waiting." He said curtly.

the Man stood up and turned around to face Dean. The sight of him made that taste of bile resurface in his mouth.

He wanted so badly to look away but he couldn't break his gaze from the lean man in front of him. Lean wasn't right, though. the Man was practically skeletal; his clothes were to loose. The white button up shirt he wore looked like it was melting over his skin. The black slacks were low on his hips. He had a sickly pallid complexion and eyes that were milky white.

The man was tracing lazy circles on the cracked wooden table. As Dean watched, cockroaches began to crawl out of the sleeves of the man's white button up shirt. They followed the traces of his fingertips. "I know what you've come for." He gestured lazily at Sam. "But why can't I get what I want as well?"

Dean clenched the gun in his hand. "I don't think I would like that."

"But you don't even know." the Man smiled casually. "Oh, and guns won't work on me."

Dean looked down at the gun in his hand and shrugged. He raised the gun up and hissed, "Just in case." He fired three shots in quick succession, each one burying into the Man's ribs, tearing apart his heart.

A lone cockroach crawled out of the gaping hole. the Man laughed. "As I was staying. You could stay with me here. Hunting whatever we want until the apocalypse came. Which, according to whispers, won't be soon anyway."

Sam started to sit up and the bugs surrounding the mattress surged forward around him.

"So you see," the Man said in a low voice, "there's really only one option here."

"You can either crawl and all the crawlies join inside you." the Man smiled, worms writhing in his gums as he spoke, "Or you can flutter away into a slimy forgotten grave."

Dean clenched his jaw. He didn't let his face reveal anything but anger. Even though fear was twisting in his gut like a moth with its wings torn off. "No."

"No?" the Man raised one eyebrow.

"I think you would enjoy this more if it was a game."

"Perhaps."

"Well, I think I've got a good game." Dean eyed Sam as he spoke. He hoped Sam could escape if Dean became the new object of fixation. "A chase."

"What sort of chase?" the Man said. He leaned against the desk casually and began to stroke his chin. "What could I ever win from you?"

"Someone to stay with you." Dean said unflinchingly. "And all you have to do," he held out his arms, "Is catch me before I make it back to the motel."

the Man considered it as a cockroach circled around his throat. On the mattress Sam was losing control of his breathing, his eyes wide and terrified. Dean fought every fiber of his being that was telling him to run over to Sam. The spiders were getting curious about the new specimen.

Dean glared at the Man, wishing for the hundredth time the flame thrower wasn't tucked away in the Impala. Everything burns. He clenched his fists. Sam was starting to claw at his face.

"Made up your mind?" Dean snapped. "Call your bugs off Sam so we can start."

the Man laughed. "They're not _my _bugs. I am _theirs._" He snapped his fingers.

They slowly receded from Sam. the Man stopped laughing and narrowed his eyes, fixing them on Dean. His voice was dangerously low. "Go."

Dean only hesitated for a second. The bugs made a subtle shift and started to surge toward Dean. He took off running. Behind him the Man called out, "Oh, and Dean? This is a strictly on foot race."

When Dean arrived at the Impala he realized the implications. The tires were shredded. Dean fumbled with the keys to open up the trunk. The ground was trembling as Dean pushed his weapons aside. He grabbed the flame thrower and took off.

Four miles. That's how far he had to go to the motel. And half a mile until he made it off a dirt road. He didn't have a chance until he made it off dirt. On concrete he had an advantage over the creatures that had to burrow.

Dean took a deep breath and picked up his pace.

the Man watched through a thousand eyes as Dean took a left. He looked over at Sam. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon. Then you can crawl with us."

Sam shook his head violently. the Man laughed as he took slow steady steps out the door. There was no need to rush when he already had his prey covered. His feet pounded the floor, a trail of bugs followed behind him like a funeral party.

Sam relaxed only when the Man was gone. There were no bugs watching him, crawling over him, tasting the sweat on his skin. His breathing regained more stability now that there wasn't anything to hold him back as he broke the silken thread that had kept him silenced. He tasted blood dripping into his mouth from the needle points. Sam didn't even want to think about how else they had planned to carve and sew his body.

He glanced down and saw a beetle. He crushed it without hesitation. Sam stood up on shaky feet, knowing his absence would not go unnoticed. Time could not be wasted; Sam had to find a way to find Dean quickly.

"Why did it have to be bugs?" he cursed and went to find the Impala.

Sam made the same discovery as Dean. There was no chance it would be drivable. His hands hadn't stopped shaking since he'd woken up to that girl screaming. He could still smell her blood, see the splatter… Sam squeezed his eyes shut trying to the bury memory. He turned back to the trunk and forced it open. Dean would kill him for breaking into the car. That would have to come later. So much would have to come later.

A nagging voice reminded him again how easy it would have been to stay away from all this.

Sam looked down at the contents of the trunk and smiled. Anger was pumping in his veins and fueling that side of him that fed on vengeance. No, he knew he could never have stayed away from the family business.

Sam hefted the sledge hammer in one hand. He smiled softly as he envisioned smashing every single one of them. The idea was intoxicating, and Sam wondered if, perhaps, he was losing it. In the grand scheme of things it didn't really matter to him. Madness had defined in him in so many ways already.

He'd run a mile in six minutes before, one second more and Dean would have made fun of him. This time was no game though. Sam took off down the dirt road, his hazel eyes alight with something akin to wildfire.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean kept falling onto dirt, and then pavement. Things would come underneath his toes and then he would fall. His palms were nearly raw and his knees were already sore. He'd only run a mile and a half. He had been so wrong about the concrete. If the bugs were right on his trail he wondered how much closer the Man was. All Dean wanted was time for Sam to get out.

When he slammed once more into the ground he didn't even try to stop his fall. A large cut opened across his forehead. The worms were laughing, and this time he could hear it. Dean didn't want to get up. The spiders were gingerly stepping onto his bruised knuckles.

Dean felt the ground shaking, and he knew the Man must be getting closer.

Forcing himself, he stood up and started running again. He needed to find cover. Some place he could shoot a flame thrower from. His feet pounded the pavement, the trees were getting thin. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder.

How could there be _that _many?

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam kept his breathing steady as he ran. The sledgehammer was loose in his grip but he didn't

drop it. He didn't even stop to scratch at his leg. There was a burning sting in the back of his calf begging for him to stop and deal with the waves of ice. It wouldn't be good when he finally took a look.

He'd already run two miles, and was just starting to fear he'd missed something when he heard the screaming. It wasn't one person; it was a thousand high pitched shrieks. But in the center of it he could clearly hear Dean.

Sam gritted his teeth and rounded the corner.

Dean had his flame thrower out. The flames licked hungrily at the insect swarm, but it was barely making a dent. They had a created a circle around him. Dean was doing his best, but the ants were biting into his ankles. the Man stood at the edge of the circle and smiled. The fire distorted his features and singed his blonde hair.

Sam could see in the creases of his face the toll it was taking on him. He was as much a part of the insects as they were all a part of him. To have so many die would hurt him severely. Sam hefted the hammer and moved forward.

"I was wondering when you would join us." the Man said without turning to face Sam.

Sam acknowledged the remark with a mighty swing of the hammer. It blew across the Man's head shattering it to bits. His skull broke into a million little pieces, bone and flesh fragments hitting the pavement. His body fell to its knees, and then finally collapsed onto the ground. The insides spilled across the pavement, a mixture of blood and dead bugs.

The bugs froze for an instant. Then it was chaos. Most of them fled, but a few still wanted to tear apart the brothers. Dean's screams were raw as he lashed out. Sam stormed through the crowd of bugs, destroying as many as he could. The sledgehammer helped, but his arm was sore from hitting the pavement.

The flame thrower finally sputtered, exhausted. Dean swayed and fell to his knees. Some of the insects took the opportunity, but then a wave washed over them. It was the beetles who changed first. They turned their rage on the ants. The ants moved to hurt the centipedes. In seconds it all disintegrated into mob fury.

Sam grabbed Dean, hoisting him up by the armpits, dragging his brother out of the melee. Not one bug dared chase after them.

The last mile and a half back to the motel was agonizingly slow. Sam could feel the pain in his leg eating away like acid. Dean was unable to stand on his own two feet without tripping. He kept watching the pavement for any scurrying, crawling movement. He kept talking aloud, but the words were too fast for Sam to understand. He did catch two words though. _Seaside Motel._

Oh, that most certainly was not good. Sam knew what his brother's delirium was focusing on. He looked up at the road ahead and prayed a car would drive by.

The shortest amount of time the Winchesters had ever spent in one motel room was exactly 8 hours, 5 minutes, and six seconds. Technically the 5 minutes and six seconds was spent knifing the room in fury, followed by running out. It was, had been, called Seaside Motel.

John had checked them in and immediately taken off. Dean was ten at the time, and he knew how to do the natural safety checks. Declaring it okay to sleep and watch cartoons in, they settled down for the night. Sam had been small back then, but he would never forget the first time he woke up to his brother screaming. Six cockroaches were in the room. Four crawling over Dean's chest and neck. Two, Sam realized as his eyes snapped awake, on his arms.

Despite all of Dad's warnings it hadn't been a monster of the night that had come to terrorize them.

And if Dean thought he was back there… that truly panicked Sam. He knew he didn't have much longer until he succumbed to whatever it was that was stinging in his leg. Sheer luck, or just more proof of the fate's sense of humor, Sam looked up and saw that they'd just barely stumbled into the motel parking lot.

Had they really run that far? No wonder Dean was exhausted.

Sam found the key to the motel in Dean's pocket and let them in. He threw Dean onto the bed. Hobbling into the bathroom, he addressed his own wound first. It wasn't so bad actually. If he just used an antibiotic and bandaged it properly it would heal. His lips would always have a small series of scars encircling them. But for waking up kidnapped, he was surprisingly ok.

Grabbing the first aid kit he walked over to Dean's bed. He could already see the bites on Dean's arms. Not to mention Dean's knees, bloody and scrapped deep.

"….i'm sorry…" Dean breathed softly.

Sam shook his head and opened up the first aid kit. He touched Dean's arm, a weak attempt at comfort. It occurred to Sam that, for all those years he'd been at Stanford, Dean had probably been in charge of bandaging himself.

"How did you ever survive?" Sam shook his head as he unwrapped gauze.

Dean's blurry green eyes opened for a minute. "Couldn't let him see this."

Sam held his breath and leaned forward. "Who?" He couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.

"Supposed to protect him…"

Sam let go of the breath he'd been holding as he realized exactly what Dean was trying to say. He was somewhere deep, dealing with the aftermath of more than the Seaside Motel.

"I'm sorry dad…"

Sam continued to clean out Dean's wounds. He wondered, not for the first time, if their mother would have chosen this for them. She was dead and gone. At least she had burned quickly, but this fate she'd left her family to was like one long, slow burn. The flames were choking them and still they kept moving.

Sam looked at his brother. "Don't worry; you've done your job."

If Dean was listening, he didn't show it. Deep down, Sam knew he was lying. They wouldn't stop until they were dead. He looked around the motel. When Dean was better, they would leave this place.

They couldn't run away from who they were, but that didn't stop them from making the effort.

"Soon," Sam reassured himself, "we'll move on soon."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Three cockroaches scuttled outside the motel room.

_What an awful loss, _the first bemoaned.

_We will be stronger, _the second hissed.

_We will crawl together again, _the third agreed.

_Soon, _they said in unison.

They went off in search of fresh meat.

**_end_**


End file.
